


Our Underlying Desires

by edawnings



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Criminal!Oikawa, Gods, How Do I Tag, M/M, Not really but whatever, Witch!Kenma, Witches, abraxas!akaashi, celebrity!oikawa, cop!iwaizumi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-09-28 01:28:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10061783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edawnings/pseuds/edawnings
Summary: Kuroo Tetsurou, a philanthropist and a genius, searches for someone who's psychosis is unusual from everyone else.Tsukishima Kei is a misanthropist.Bokuto Koutarou, a man obsessed with immortality, searches for the deity that can make him deathless.Akaashi Keiji is far more than meets the eye.Oikawa Tooru, a well-known celebrity and underground criminal, searches for a challenge, and an escape.Iwaizumi Hajimi is a police officer, rooted in legality.DISCONTINUED





	1. Pleroma

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm back with another series! This one's a bit different than the other series I've written, so I hope you all still enjoy it. It will tell not only one pairing, but three pairings stories, all in the same universe and timeline.
> 
> Every chapter will be told in one character's point of view, in this order: Kuroo, Bokuto, Oikawa, and then it'll repeat.
> 
> Thank you to all who decide to give this a read, and I genuinely hope you think your time is worth it!

_“There is a God about whom you know nothing, because men have forgotten him. We call him by his name. He is less definite than God or Devil. He is activity; nothing can resist him but the unreal. He stands above the God and above the Devil If the Pleroma were capable of having a being, he would be its manifestation._

_— 2nd Sermon”_

 

Kuroo Tetsurou would classify himself as a simple man, with simple wants. He wanted money, of course. It was every human’s natural and drive desire. Money controlled the human race, no matter how you looked at it. He wanted power. It was simple enough—respect and loyalty came with power, and with that came adventure and understanding. Lastly, Kuroo Tetsurou wanted humanity. Not control of the entire race, but rather an understanding of the underlying psychosis of the human mind and the sociology behind human reaction. He wanted to tap into the most basic human desires, and make then unattainable, so they struggled and inevitably became animalistic and barbaric. It was all very interesting to him, really.

If Kuroo was to find someone without those basic human desires, or someone without the natural drive to achieve the unattainable, well, Kuroo was sure he’d never be able to stop observing said person. To find someone so visibly and psychologically different was _his_ desire. Nothing could possibly be more alluring, to him.

Kuroo happened to rather enjoy… _unusual_ people. He found people who were only interested in his abundant amount of money to be typical, and rather uninteresting. People who wanted _more_ than his money, or even _less_ , were the people he wanted to observe.

His best friends—or best acquaintances, whichever—were some of those unusual people. Bokuto Koutarou was a man interested, _obsessed_ with immortality. The idea of a higher power being deathless. He studied every form of higher power, from Egyptian, to Greek, to Christian Gods. He found that there was one thing they all had in common, besides their deity status. They could not die. Bokuto now seeks out a higher power such as those, in hopes of becoming deathless. As impossible as that would have sounded to any regular being, Kuroo didn’t believe in impossibility. It all went back to achieving the unattainable. That was exactly what Bokuto was trying to do.

The other person Kuroo was closest to was named Oikawa Tooru. He was just as wealthy as Kuroo, if not more so. It wasn’t like he was obsessed with money, but rather the way people payed attention to him because of it. Oikawa was well-known throughout Japan for his good looks and wealth, which seemed rather typical to Kuroo. If Oikawa had been as simple as that, Kuroo wouldn’t have been able to stand him. But there was a catch to Oikawa. Underground, he was a huge criminal. If something illegal was happening in Japan, it was most likely Oikawa’s doing. He owned several drug cartels, fighting rings, and overall just enjoyed wreaking havoc in whatever way he found entertaining. The people loved him, completely unaware of what he was capable of.

Kuroo liked to help the both of them out, in whatever ways he could manage. They all helped each other, however they could. They seemed unstoppable as individuals, and as a team, and Kuroo was eagerly awaiting the day someone was brave enough to attempt to put a stop to them.

“Kuroo,” Oikawa said, breaking him away from his train of thought. They were sitting on one of the couches in Oikawa’s penthouse. Oikawa was wearing a full suit—black slacks, dark blue button up, grey vest, a Rolex—the works. His philosophy was to look richer than everyone. Kuroo supposed it was working. “I have a business meeting tomorrow, so I can’t make it to dinner. Can we do tonight instead?” At least every month, the three of them—Kuroo, Oikawa, and Bokuto—went out to dinner, got drinks, and let go of their reputations for just one night. It was the only time they could ever really act like friends, as opposed to dedicated coworkers. They still occasionally talked about their plans, business wise, but it never felt the same. It was a good time.

Kuroo shrugged. “Yeah, we can do whenever. Tonight is good, if we go really late.” He had plans to go to some bar to drink, and observe the people around him. Completely alone. He wouldn’t want to miss that.

“The later the better,” Oikawa mumbled. “I have a new cop on my ass.”

The darker haired man nodded understandingly. Oikawa was always weaseling his way out of sticky situations, just like this one. Shaking a cop wouldn’t be too hard for him. Not after how many times he’d already done it. “I don’t think Bokuto can do tomorrow, anyway.”

Bokuto sat down on Oikawa’s couch, a brochure in hand. He was just wearing a t-shirt and jeans. The contrast between he and Oikawa was hard to miss. “No, I can’t do tomorrow. I’m going night boating. I heard there’s a man out there who can help me.” Immortality. That was Bokuto’s final goal. He was willing to do whatever he had to do to get closer to his goal.

Oikawa wrinkled his nose. “Do you really expect to find a God in the middle of a lake?” He poked at the brochure, looking skeptical. He’d never really been on board with Bokuto’s decision.

Bokuto shook his head. “Not necessarily a god. Maybe a deity, or someone who knows how I can find what I’m looking for. Anyone with information.”

Oikawa’s large brown eyes looked between Bokuto and the brochure. “Well, good luck with that.”

Kuroo chuckled. “Oh, Oikawa, you can be so pompous sometimes.”

The brunet snorted. “So can you.” Bokuto laughed at the exchange.

“Yes,” Kuroo smiled, “but you’re so _flamboyant_ about it.” Oikawa liked to be flamboyant and dramatic about everything he did. Kuroo found it rather funny. Oikawa certainly was entertaining.

He flipped his hair with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s part of my charm, didn’t you know that?”

Bokuto laughed, his black and white hair bouncing with him. “You rich people,” he joked.

Kuroo raised his eyebrows. “It’s not like you’re too bad off yourself, Bo.” Even if he didn’t have as much money as the other two, he was still considerably wealthy. “Anyway, what’s with this deity you’re supposed to be meeting tomorrow?”

Bokuto perked up excited. He always looked like a puppy wagging his tail when he got like this. “I was talking to that witch you suggested I go to, Kenma, and he gave me this brochure. I’m supposed to go to the lake in the middle at midnight, and I’ll find a man there who can help me. Kenma didn’t tell me how, but he’s supposed to be the epitome of desire, and everything I want. I’m just hoping Kenma is right.”

Kuroo wasn’t really sure if he believed in all this whole witch business, or Bokuto’s business, even. He’d never seen proof of either, but who was he to shoot down his best friend’s aspirations? One of his friends, Kenma, was a supposed witch, and Bokuto was into that sort of thing. Kuroo figured that it worked out well for the both of them.

Oikawa took a sip of his wine. He claimed he only drank it for ‘health benefits,’ and made it very clear that he only drank white wine. He was very particular about those sorts of things. “Do you know what the man looks like?” he wondered.

Bokuto smiled, gold eyes gazing off into the distance. “I’m just supposed to be able to tell.”

Kuroo sat back on the couch. “Let’s hope there aren’t a lot of people who decide to be at the lake tomorrow night.’

“I really hope not.”

#

Every single person at the bar was as boring as any person could be. They danced, laughed, fought. Most of them were drunk. Kuroo was feeling a bit of a buzz himself, leaning against a far wall. But no one was catching his eye. No one was giving him the slightest impression that they were anything except exactly what they seemed to be. No underlying desires, no greyed morality that contributed to a greater cause. No subconscious that drew people to anything but the blatantly obvious. Kuroo was _bored_. That, to him, was something a person like himself should never feel.

His best bet was a boyish redhead who was far more energetic than anyone else in the room. Even then, he couldn’t find any interest in what he was doing.

Kuroo stood up to leave, completely bored of the people out tonight, when fresh meat walked through the doors. He’d never seen this person before, either. A natural blond—that was rare enough. Not to mention the fact that he was taller than everyone in the room, including Kuroo himself. His limbs were long, stretching on for miles, covered by milky-white skin. His eyes were narrowed in a glare, looking at everyone in a bored, superior way. This new man wore thick-framed glasses and a deep scowl on his face. Kuroo could only assume that the scowl was permanent, given how casual it looked on his face. Kuroo had a good feeling that this man’s appearance wasn’t even the most interesting thing about him.

The blond sat down at the bar, across the room from where Kuroo was, and ordered a drink. Sake, from the looks of it. He didn’t try to converse with the bartender, or any of the people around him. He didn’t even give them as much as a glance. He simply ordered his drink and continued scowling. He was getting a lot of looks, either because he was attractive, or because he seemed unfriendly. Either way, it didn’t seem to faze the blond.

Kuroo, being the man that he was, _had_ to meet him.

He walked up to this new man, and sat on the bar stool next to him. His hair was curly, in a cute way, and he was wearing a dark blue button up shirt with plain black slacks, not too unlike was Kuroo was wearing. No accessories, no patterns, not even a tie. _Simple_.

Kuroo turned to him slowly, putting a wide grin on his face. He stuck his hand out to shake. Test number one. “My name is Kuroo Tetsurou.” Most people already knew his name, even if he didn’t know theirs. Number two. “I’m a man of simple wants and simple needs.” He winked. Flattery and seduction were some of the fastest ways to get to know someone. He’d see how this enticing blond would react.

The other man simply looked down at Kuroo’s hand, and then back into the distance. All with a scowl on his face. “I’m not sleeping with you,” he said, looking disgusted with Kuroo.

Interesting. People were usually throwing themselves at Kuroo’s feet at the chance to sleep with him. Or they were too polite to state their disinterest. This blatant rejection was something Kuroo truly was not used to. It was refreshing.

“I’m not trying to sleep with you,” Kuroo smiled, “don’t flatter yourself.” Test number three, complete. Even though Kuroo _certainly_ would not mind sleeping with this tall blond, one of the easiest ways to get to know someone was to get under their skin. It didn’t look like it’d be too difficult with this one. He didn’t seem fond of people. “I just want to know your name.” No, this one was not regular at all. He was so _bitter_. Kuroo loved it.

“Tsukishima,” the blond replied, without looking at Kuroo. The name rolled off of his tongue like sour sugar.

Kuroo leaned his cheek on one of his hands, eyes eating up the blond’s figure. “Are you new here?” he asked. “I usually recognize people when they come in here.” He didn’t know most people’s names, but he did recognize their faces, or their voice, or any previous experience he’d had with them, good or bad. This Tsukishima was completely new to him.

“I don’t come here often,” was all he responded with. It was clear to Kuroo that he didn’t want to speak with him. It only gave Kuroo more initiative to get to know him. He wanted to know what was _inside_.

“Tsukishima is a nice name. What’s your first name?” People rarely ever drew Kuroo to them. It was always the other way around. But this one. This one was practically begging Kuroo to delve into the deepest depths of his psychosis, to pick at his biggest fears and utmost desires. Kuroo was absolutely entranced by this Tsukishima.

He finally looked at Kuroo. His eyes were the colour of honey. “Why are you so interested?” God, he sounded so _mean_. Kuroo could have sworn he was turned on by it.

Kuroo’s grin widened. “If I buy you a drink, will you at least consider coming home with me?”

Those bitter honey eyes looked over Kuroo once, and then back away. “No.”

Kuroo grinned, and bought him that second drink anyway.

#

“Oikawa,” Kuroo smiled, nearly in a dream-like state. “I met the most amazing man.” The three of them were sitting at a restaurant, an hour or so after Kuroo had met the wonderful Tsukishima. Their dinner date was timed perfectly, so Kuroo could tell the both of them about it.

“Yeah?” Oikawa smiled, leaning in closer. “What’s he look like?” Of course Oikawa would ask about appearance first. He could be so amusingly predictable, at times.

Kuroo laughed, shaking his head. “He’s tall, blond, and wears glasses. He’s pretty cute. But that’s besides the point. He didn’t even want to sleep with me.”

Bokuto bounced in his seat. “Really? Did you offer?”

Oikawa sipped at his white wine. “You must be in love.”

“I did offer,” Kuroo said excitedly. “He was not interested at all. He was so mean to me.”

The brunet shook his head amusedly. “He’s just your type.”

“He really is. I want to get to know him more. Like I do.” The other two were well aware of Kuroo’s impending love for humankind.

“Is this one of your ‘psychosis’ things?” Oikawa asked, a small wrinkle in his nose. He thanked the waitress politely when she set the food on the table. “I don’t know what you call it.”

“I suppose you could call it that,” Kuroo laughed, picking ip his chopsticks. “But yes, that is the reason why. We barely talked for a few minutes and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking the whole time. It’s hard to find someone so unreadable.” He actually tended to gravitate towards the easily-readable, like Oikawa and Bokuto. Tsukishima was a new case altogether.

“You should try to talk to him again,” Bokuto suggested, gold eyes wide.

Kuroo slumped in his seat. “I didn’t talk to him long enough to get to know anything besides the name Tsukishima.” Rarely was Kuroo ever drawn to a person, both mentally and physically. When he was, there was always a good reason. Rarely was a simple human so _stimulating_. He was mean, and painfully uninterested, and didn’t pretend to be polite just for the sake of social norms. He was unlike anyone Kuroo had ever interacted with before.

Kuroo really wanted to know more about this Tsukishima. Perhaps even his first name.


	2. Blameless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bokuto Koutarou, a man obsessed with immortality, searches for the deity that can make him deathless.
> 
> Akaashi Keiji is far more than meets the eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's my second shot at this series! Much more is to come in the future, hopefully. Enjoy!

_”Abraxas doesn’t take exception to any of your thoughts or any of your dreams. Never forget that. But he will have you once you become blameless and normal._

_—Pistorius”_

 

Bokuto Koutarou ultimately wanted one thing. He’d wanted it for as long as he could remember, fantasizing about it as a child, taking every college class on the concept that he could get his hands on. No one believed that he could get what he wanted. Even Kuroo seemed doubtful, as supportive as he was. But that wouldn’t stop Bokuto. At this point, _nothing_ could stop Bokuto.

Nothing could stop Bokuto from achieving eternal life.

What would he do once he became immortal? Well, he’d live. That was it. He didn’t have everything planned out, as crazy and unorganized as it seemed. Perhaps he should have planned out what he was going to do for the rest of eternity, but that was a part of the fun. The spontaneity of his life once it became eternal was most of what would make this whole deal so fun.

Bokuto was on the boat. It was chill out, the night air cool, bugs buzzing above the water. Luckily he didn’t get cold easily—he was only wearing cargo pants, a long sleeved shirt, a vest, and a hat. Oikawa would probably be shivering in his cashmere and silk by now.

There was just a sliver of a crescent moon out that night, but there were more stars than Bokuto cold ever remember seeing. The air was still, crickets chirping in the distance. He was drifting along the water, no real destination in his mind.

He didn’t know what to expect of this man. Kenma hadn’t told him much. He’d handed him the brochure, more or less told him to be there, and walked away. Bokuto stayed sitting in Kenma’s apartment, hoping for more information, but none had come. He knew it was a man. That was good. He knew he was supposed to be ‘the epitome of desire.’ But what did that mean he would look like? How would Bokuto know it was him? He’d told Oikawa and Kuroo that he’d just be able to tell, but what if he couldn’t? What if no one showed up? What if no one showed up?

He’d never admit it, but he still had subconscious fears that none of what he wanted existed. It had to.

And what could this man help him with? Kenma hadn’t told him whether this man was a deity, or a witch like him, or just someone who knew what he was talking about. Bokuto was sure there were people who had studied this type of thing for _years_ , unlike him, who had just taken a few college classes on anything that seemed useful to him. He’d _paid_ for a few college classes, just to get closer to his goal. He’d read every book he could find on the subject. He hated reading. _That’s_ how important it was to him.

Osiris, the Egyptian god of the afterlife, the underworld and the dead, was also the god of transition, resurrection, and regeneration. As a ruler of the dead, Osiris was also called ‘king of the living.’ He was known as the merciful judge of the dead, but also granted life, including sprouting vegetation and the flooding of the Nile river. When Osiris rose from the dead, he inherited eternal life, through a process called imitative magic. A being like Osiris would have no problem giving Bokuto immortality, if only he died first. Undoubtedly, Bokuto would have no problem doing that, if he knew for sure he’d be brought back.

Through intervention of the Greek gods, Ino, Achilles, Helen, Memnon, Menelaus, and Peleus were granted physical immortality. Tithonus was granted eternal life, but not eternal youth. That wasn’t exactly what Bokuto was looking for, but it was close. The Greek gods had a knack for granting important people eternal life. If all Bokuto had to do was sweet talk a few gods, it’d be a done deal in no time.

In Hinduism, Chiranjiki were immortal beings who remain on Earth until the very end of time. Amrit is a word that _literally_ means immortality, and is usually depicted as a sort of nectar. That nectar, the same as ambrosia in Greek mythology, is what supposedly gave the gods their immortality.

It was as simple as that. There was a god, or a nectar, or _something_ that could help Bokuto.

He supposed it was getting close to midnight now. He was far into the lake, the only thing he could see besides himself, the boat, and the water, was the moon high in the sky, reflecting bright off of the water. If it hadn’t been for the moon, he wouldn’t have been able to see anything, even his own hands in front of him.

Or the man. The man in front of him.

When Bokuto had said he would just know, he was mostly joking. But now. Even if it hadn’t been for the unwarranted tears spilling out of his eyes, or the lunar glow around this man, he would have known.

He was… the _most_ beautiful person Bokuto had ever seen in his entire life. Male or female. It didn’t matter. This man completely outshined them in every conceivable way. He looked like the moon had come down from the sky, in the form of some dark angel.

He was facing adjacent of Bokuto, staring off into the distance. His skin was pale and smooth, reflecting the moon. His hair was jet black, curls resting at the name of his neck, framing his beautiful face. The closer Bokuto got, the more of this man Bokuto could see. His eyes were the perfect, slanted, feline shape, framed by thick, dark eyelashes that curled just enough, and perfectly arched eyebrows. His nose was straight and proportional. His lips were a pale shade of pink, resting in a perfect pout, full and in a neutral line. His limbs were graceful and thin, just like the rest of him. He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful person that had ever existed upon the Earth. Anyone could see that.

But it was just him. Just Bokuto. He was the only person looking at this _absolute_ work of art.

The man’s focus turned to Bokuto. He was intimidating, and gorgeous, and ethereal, and if Bokuto had a choice, he’d _never_ look away from him.

“Why are you crying?” the man asked. His voice was cool and clear, running through Bokuto’s veins like liquid silver.

Bokuto brought a hand up to touch at his cheeks. He’d forgotten about that. Sure enough, wet tears were quickly cooling on his face. He was sure he looked ridiculous. “Ah.” Bokuto cleared his throat. “I guess I didn’t realize you were going to be so pretty.”

The other man’s eyes narrowed. “Flattery. What is your name?” Bokuto realized that the man was standing on the very tip of a rock, in the middle of the lake. No boat. Nothing.

Bokuto’s eyes went wide. “Uh.” Is this what a god looked like? What was he? “I’m Bokuto Koutarou.” All he knew was that this man was _not_ human. “D-do you have a name?” Should he bow? Kiss his hand? Foot? Bokuto would do it. He’d fucking _swim_ to kiss this man on the foot.

The man blinked, apparently taken aback. He cocked his head to the side, dark eyes boring into Bokuto. “Most know me as Abraxas. You can call me Akaashi Keiji.”

Bokuto couldn’t breathe. “Akaashi Keiji?” In the dark, he could see that the man’s eyes were a dark grey, or blue, or green. Something just as cold and beautiful as he was.

“Who sent you?” Akaashi Keiji was only wearing dark pants. His slender waist and shoulders were pale, contrasting against the dark of everything else.

“Kozume Kenma.” Bokuto noticed that his boat was drifting closer to Akaashi Keijij with every second that passed. It was as if even the water of the lake was drawn to him.

“Kenma?” The word rolled off of his tongue like glass marbles. “He thinks you’re worthy?” Bokuto’s boat hit Akaashi Keiji’s rick, halting him to a rough stop. He swallowed hard, consumed by both fear and desire. This is what Kenma meant. “What’s so good about you?”

Who knew people like this existed in Japan?

Bokuto’s skin was tingling all over. “I- I have no answer to that. I don’t know.”

Akaashi Keiji’s eyes cut through him like ice water. “You don’t know? Then why are you here?” His lips twitched down in displeasure.

“Look, I just came here because Kenma told me to.” He wasn’t even in the water, yet he felt like he was drowning, his lungs being filled with the dark, icy water, causing it to spill out of his eyes. “I just want to become deathless.” To say such words ot a being like Akaashi Keiji. He felt ridiculous.

Akaashi Keiji stepped onto Bokuto’s boat, closer to the white-haired man. Bokuto could _feel_ his presence, running over his skin in chills. “You want _nothing_ more than to be immortal?” Bokuto hesitantly shook his head. “Do you even know _why_ you want immortality?”

Bokuto was regretting every decision he’d ever made that led up to this point. “I just—” He really could not breathe. It felt like Akaashi Keiji was wrapping one of his perfect, lithe hands around Bokuto’s lungs, and was squeezing, just to give Bokuto a challenge. “I just want to live forever. “I want to be able to finally _live_ , without having to fear death.”

Akaashi Keiji stepped closer, curling his fingers tight in Bokuto’s shirt. He radiated a type of cold so harsh it felt like Bokuto’s skin was burning. Even through the fabric of his shirt. “That isn’t enough. You can’t live forever without a reason.” He moved his face so close to Bokuto’s that he could see the curl of each individual eyelash. His eyes were definitely a blue-green. His lips were only a centimeter away from Bokuto’s. He hardly had pores. Bokuto was shaking, literally trembling. Akaashi Keiji’s eyes were so intense and emotionless that Bokuto thought he was going to pass out. “Find a reason.”

Akaashi Keiji was letting go of his shirt, and Bokuto was falling backwards into the boat. And then he blacked out.

#

Abraxas, or Abrasax, was a word of mystic meaning in the _Gnostic Basilides._ The word appears in the Greek Magical Papyri, and was engraved on certain antique gemstones, called Abraxas Stones, which were used as amulets or stones.

Abraxas has been claimed to be both an Egyptian god and a demon.

In Switzerland, Abraxas has been called the supreme power of being, transcending both God and the Devil, and unites all opposites into one being.

As it turned out, Bokuto really had passed out. And, in turn, ended up back on land, his boat tied neatly next to him. He’d finally woken up in the morning.

Now, there was nothing he could think about besides Abraxas, and Akaashi Keiji. He was sure abraxas was the one who could grant him immortality. He had never been so sure of anything in his life.

He had met a lot of people, both supernatural and otherwise, but none of them had emitted the same type of sheer power that Abraxas had. He literally fucking _glowed in the dark_. Even if he hadn’t, there was a certain type of aura about him. Bokuto could sense how powerful he was, even ten feet away from him. It made his skin tingle and his skin feel like they were going to melt inside of him.

And as weird as it was to admit, Bokuto sort of liked it.

For the first time, Bokuto felt like he was buzzing with energy. Sure, he was always fairly energetic usually, but that was just his personality. This was different. This was the type of energy that powered generators and the brightest, most powerful spotlight. It was the type of energy that almost made him feel like he was being electrocuted. It was _power_.

Bokuto didn’t want power. Not really. That wasn’t why he was doing this. Power didn’t appeal to him—Kuroo said that was the reason they got along so well. But the idea of having power wasn’t one that Bokuto felt like he really needed to achieve. He didn’t want to have the status that Kuroo and Oikawa had. He just wanted to live forever.

He did want to feel that surge of power Abraxas gave him at touch, though.

He needed to feel that rush.

He needed Abraxas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a commentm, kudos, question, or really anything telling me how you feel about this new chapter and series!
> 
> Thank you so much!


	3. Isolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa Tooru, a well-known celebrity and underground criminal, searches for a challenge, and an escape.
> 
> Iwaizumi Hajimi is a police officer, rooted in legality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three is finally here! Thank you to everyone who has been so supportive of this series!
> 
> Enjoy!

_“Good and Evil are very hard to explain or understand. I’m sure that Evil exists, but it is hard to isolate. Good and Evil are intertwined and impossible to separate. They are not completely opposites, and in fact are often one and the same_

_—Keith Haring”_

 

Generally, Oikawa Tooru was tired. Tired of people, tired of working, and tired of stupid fucking business meetings that never took less than three fucking hours.

Some idiot agent wanted him to do a photoshoot with a tuxedo company for some shitty, popular magazine, and for some _ungodly_ reason, that discussion was now on it’s second and a half hour. Oikawa had agreed right away, in hopes that his agent would just send him the details over email, like any humane person would, but he was getting each and every detail explained to him over a cold cup of coffee.

Sometimes, being a celebrity was _exhausting_.

“Look, sweetie,” Oikawa smiled, doing his best not to shove the entire cup of coffee down his agent’s throat. “I have to be somewhere soon, so if you’d _please_ just email me the rest, I’d love it.” He smiled sweetly, put his wool coat on, grabbed his bag, and left without another word, pushing his sunglasses onto his face. Today was _not_ one of the days he felt like dealing with his agents. He’d already dealt with several, due to a commercial he was supposed to speak English on. He got it—he was pretty. Japanese schoolgirls loved him. And he loved the attention.

But honestly, he was kind of over it.

His above-ground life was never changing. He did photoshoots, movies, commercials, and whatever else the press wanted him to do. He was used to it. That’s the whole reason he started his underground business in the first place. Nothing changed up above, but nothing was ever predictable underground. He sold drugs to every sort of person, and always got away with it. He had _literally_ smuggled hundreds of pounds of drugs into other countries, yet no one ever bat an eye, because he was Oikawa Tooru, and he quickly figured out that he could do whatever the fuck he wanted to do. So he did.

One of his most popular activities, besides the drugs, was his infamous ring-fighting. They were underground. Quite literally. A few brutish me—or women, but rarely—beat the living shit out of each other for Oikawa’s money. It was bloody, and sweaty, and gross, but Oikawa still enjoyed watching them on occasion. They kind of turned him on, in a weird way. He knew it turned Kuroo on too, so he wasn’t alone.

No one underground ever cared that he was Oikawa Tooru. They thought it was cool that such a huge celebrity was into such criminal acts, but that was as far as it went. No one asked for autographs or pictures, and no one hyperventilated when they were in the same room as him. He wasn’t idolized for being famous. The only things his underground people cared about were his drugs, money, and benefits for them. He loved it.

He was on his way to another fight. Yes, he realized that it was literally the middle of the day, but he was feeling particularly bloodthirsty and ready to see his criminal friends pummel each other half to death. It was a form of stress relief for him, and boy, had that agent fucking stressed him out. He needed to watch someone get hurt.

He got into his car and started for the opposite side of town, where his friends, Hanamaki and Matsukawa lived. They lived in a pretty big house, and it was built whenever ago, so it had tunnels constructed underneath it. They let Oikawa use their tunnels for his patrons to beat each other in. Hanamaki and Matsukawa were some of his most loyal customers. They participated in most everything Oikawa was involved in. It was sweet. He’d consider them his friends.

He didn’t consider a lot of people his friends. Kuroo and Bokuto, of course. He hadn’t even meant to be friends with them, it had just sort of happened. He’d accepted and learned to love it long ago. He was friends with Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and a man named Yahaba, but that was about it. Even the latter three weren’t very close to him. Just fun to be around.

In a way, Oikawa wanted someone who understood him in every way possible. Kuroo _said_ he understood him, but Oikawa didn’t really believe him. Kuroo was too busy with trying to be some fucked up psychiatrist to really understand Oikawa. Which was just as well. But Oikawa wanted someone to understand both sides of him—the celebrity and underground side. Someone who knew his deepest, darkest dears, and essentially nurtured him through it. He wanted someone to understand whatever fucking perversions he was up to, and let him give into it. Someone who was gentle as hell with him, because let’s face it, Oikawa was fragile, but someone who understood when Oikawa was fragile and when he wasn’t. Because sometimes Oikawa needed someone to break him down and destroy him, and that needed to be understood.

Red and blue lights began to flash behind him, reflecting off of his windows and the interior of his car. Of course he was getting pulled over when he was driving thirty miles above the fucking speed limit. Fantastic.

He pulled over to the side, rolling his eyes all the while. He was just going to get let off with a warning, why should he waste his time flirting with some dull cop to get there?

The cop knocked a knuckle against Oikawa’s window. He rolled it down, pushing his sunglasses down his nose, batting his long eyelashes at the cop.

But _oh_. The cop was fucking _hot_. Like, seriously hot. He had spiky black hair, dark eyebrows knit together in a frown, and arms so thick and muscular, Oikawa could see how built he was through the fabric of his cute little police uniform. His jawline was sharp and prominent, his mouth turned down in an attractive frown. This time he’d _actually_ be flirting his way out of a ticket. Astonishing.

“Are you aware that you were going nearly thirty miles over the speed limit, sir?” the cop asked. His voice was gruff and deep, and Oikawa found himself briefly wondering what it’d sound like if it were telling him to _bend over_.

Oikawa took his sunglasses off and set them on the dashboard of his car. He gave the officer a wide smile, and then a wink. “It must’ve slipped my mind,” he breathed. Playing dumb usually had a key role in getting away with stuff. He was just a pretty face, to most people.

“License and registration.” He didn’t falter at the wink, or any of Oikawa’s words. He was all business. Good _god_ he was hot. Oikawa wanted to eat him alive.

The brunet fished his registration out of the glovebox, pulling his license from his wallet. He handed them to the officer, large brown eyes eating up the other man’s form. The buttons on his uniform looked like they were about to pop off, the nearby fabric clearly strained.

“Do you work out?” Oikawa asked with a flirtatious grin. He wondered what it was like to have sex in a cop car.

“Yes, I do.” He was looking over the registration.

Oikawa leaned on a hand. “It shows, you know. It looks good on you. You should—”

“Are you Oikawa Tooru?” he interrupted.

The brunet almost let a frown fall onto his features. “Yes.” The cop was the one with his license in hand, he figured it was at least _somewhat_ obvious.

“Please step out of the car,” the darker haired man commanded. He set Oikawa’s license and registration on the hood of Oikawa’s car, dark olive green eyes watching as Oikawa stepped out of the car with a sigh.

As cute as this cop was, he did _not_ have time for this. Maybe if his agent hadn’t blabbed for three hours, he’d be a little more forgiving of his wasted time. But now this cop was drawing this while process out, and not giving in to his flirtations. Today was not Oikawa’s day.

He turned Oikawa around swiftly, pinning him against the car and bringing his wrists together behind his back. It kind of turned Oikawa on, honestly. His hands were large and rough, and he really was not being gentle with the brunet. He was probably incredible in bed.

“Oikawa Tooru, you are under arrest for drug trafficking, leading an underground fighting lead, fraud, and participating in organized crime.” 

Oikawa’s cheek was pressed against his own car, tongue coming out to wet his lower lip. “If I may, officer,” he chirped, “what’s your name?”

The officer turned him around to face him, the cold metal pulling the brunet’s wrists together. “Officer Iwaizumi Hajime.”

Oikawa immediately pulled himself out of the officer’s grasp. “You’re the cop who’s been on my ass for a whole fucking month? You don’t have any proof I did any of what you say I did, you know that?” It figured that he’d get caught for speeding.

If it was any other officer, he’d be out of these handcuffs in no time. But Iwaizumi Hajime wasn’t so easy. Oikawa knew this. His name kept showing up wherever Oikawa went, trying to find evidence for what he’d been doing. Hanamaki had warned him to watch out for this guy, because he’d apparently busted a lot of other underground criminals. Oikawa hadn’t listened, because he was Oikawa Tooru, and he could do whatever the fuck he wanted to do. Apparently not.

Iwaizumi didn’t answer his questions. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law. You have the right to have a lawyer present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you if you so desire.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “I can afford a fucking lawyer. I’m a celebrity, remember? I don’t need you pledging my rights to me if it’s going to imply certain things.” He wrinkled his nose at the other man.

Iwaizumi started dragging Oikawa towards his police car, grabbing Oikawa’s paperwork as we went. He was just dragging the brunet along, moving him, even if he didn’t want to be moved. He was pleasantly rough with the brunet. Oikawa still hated him, though.

“It’s my duty to state your rights, as the officer who is arresting you.” He shoved Oikawa into the backseat of his car.

Oikawa pouted. “Fuck you, too.”

#

He was sitting in front of Iwaizumi, arms crossed in front of him. They were in a metal room with a metal table and metal chairs. Police officers really had no business in interior design. “What’s your proof?”

Iwaizumi threw several photos onto the table. Oikawa used a finger to slide them closer, eyes peering over them. One was of him sitting in a tall chair at the fighting ring, while a man was getting punched right in the jaw, blood running down his face. Oikawa was smiling, in the picture. Another picture was of him talking to Hanamaki and Matsukawa, in one of their tunnels.

“Who took these?” Oikawa asked curiously. No one seemed _too_ suspicious for, you know, being involved in this so-called ‘organized crime.’

“That information is classified,” Iwaizumi said.

Oikawa crossed his arms in front of himself, again. He blinked a few times, concentrating on not completely freaking out on this shitty cop. “We’ll find out who took them, anyway,” he huffed. Classified information his _ass_. What were they trying to save the traitor from, anyway? Did they think Oikawa was going to _kill_ whoever it was?

Iwaizumi sat down from across the table, eyes narrowed at the brunet. “And how do you expect to do that, Oikawa?”

Oikawa raised his eyebrows. “If you think I’m _this_ scandalous, you _must_ know that I have my connections.

The officer looked far too relaxed in that chair of his. “Like who? Your friends Hanamaki Takahiro and Matsukawa Issei? Do you really think that people like them are capable of bringing down a police force?”

Oikawa glared. “I’m a ‘people like them.’ You seem to think I’ve done plenty, so why isn’t that possible?” He was sure Hanamaki and Matsukawa could bring down an entire police force, and then some, if they really wanted to. They were capable people.

“You’re not going to get away with this, Oikawa.” Iwaizumi stood up and began pacing.

“You sure pace a lot, Officer Hajime. Am I stressing you out?” The brunet gave a wide grin, eye’s following Iwaizumi’s every move. He knew he was irritating Iwaizumi. That’s why he was having so much fun with this.

“You can’t possibly think that highly of yourself,” he scowled, not faltering a single beat in his pacing.

Oikawa’s smile only got wider. “I think you know that I think _very_ highly of myself, Iwaizumi Hajime.”

“And why is that?” He was still pacing, his scowl deepening at every one of Oikawa’s taunting words. It was so _easy_ to get under that pretty, tan skin of his. Perhaps a cop like him should have been more reserved. It would probably save him a lot of Oikawa-related troubles.

“Look at me, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa breathed. He knew the other man would hate the nickname. “I’m gorgeous. I’m intelligent. I’m famous both above and underground.”

Iwaizumi paused mid-step. “I know you think you can get away with this.”

“Bail money,” Oikawa practically sang.

Iwaizumi took a single step closer to the brunet. “If you bail out, I’ll just keep catching you. I know you won’t stop. So I’ll keep finding you, and you’ll end up in that chair, every damned time.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “You underestimate me.”

“You can’t get away with this.”

A smile. “I will.”

“I won’t let you.”

A pause. The flutter of eyelashes. “Yes, you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment, kudos, question, or anything telling me how you feel about IwaOi's first chapter!
> 
> Thank you so much!


	4. Godhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo Tetsurou takes an interest in all people unusual, in personality and psychosis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

_“It appears that Abraxas has much deeper significance. We may conceive of the name as that of the godhead whose symbolic task is the uniting of godly and devilish elements._

_— Dr. Follens”_

 

“I met a pretty little blond the other day,” Kuroo smiled, sitting in front of a crystal ball the size of his own head. He was in Kenma’s apartment, two black cats circling around Kuroo’s legs, trying to pet themselves on the fabric of his slacks. Tapestries were hung on the ceilings, making it hard for Kuroo to walk around without having to duck. Other than one dim lightbulb and a few candles, there was no source of light, making everything appear far more solemn than it really was. Potted plants sat on every surface, beads and crystals hanging off of their leaves. Far more incense than Kuroo cared for burned, filling the air with a head smoke.

Kenma was sitting in front of him, wearing a grey pullover hoodie and sweatpants. He didn’t look like he belonged in his own apartment, but it was a nice dichotomy. “Did you, now?” Kenma asked, twisting one of the rings around his thin fingers. He looked at Kuroo with large, slightly bored, cat-like eyes, as if he could see everything Kuroo was thinking. Kuroo wouldn’t have been surprised if he was able to see in the dark, honestly.

Kuroo nodded, his lips stretching into a smile. “He was by far the most interesting person I’ve ever encountered. He didn’t want anything to do with me.” He sighed dramatically.

Kenma shook his head at his words. “That’s not normal, you know.”

The darker haired man laughed loudly, clutching his stomach. “That’s the point, dear Kenma.” The faux blond wrinkled his nose. “Anyway, how are you and Tora?” Kenma was dating one of Kuroo’s longtime friends, Yamamoto Taketora, who was also a supposed witch. They’d all known each other for quite some time, and always been friends, before Kenma and Tora had gotten into the witch scene. It was only fairly recently when that the two of them had realized that they were mutually attracted to each other.

“Tora and I are fine,” Kenma replied, “he’s here, but he’s still asleep.”

Kuroo liked Kenma and Yamamoto. He enjoyed their presence, on most occasions. Besides being a witch, Kenma didn’t care about much. A lot of the time, he didn’t even care about being a witch. He just wanted to keep to himself and play video games. As boring as that sounded to Kuroo, he respected it. He was usually drawn to people that didn’t care about the personal benefits he could provide for them. He _always_ liked the people who didn’t care about his money, status, or physicality. Those were the only people Kuroo would even consider calling his friends.

Yamamoto was the same way as Kenma. He’d rather play video games with Kenma, or grow his plants than have some sort of high status. Yamamoto was also a witch, but in a different way than Kenma. Kenma dealt with all the classics—crystal balls, tarot cards, premonitions, palm readings, and whatever else he happened to take an interest in. Yamaoto specialized in plants, and other earthly elements, like crystals and mud, or whatever. Kuroo had never seen them in action, but Bokuto was convinced that they were legitimate.

“Asleep?” Kuroo asked. “It’s two in the afternoon.” He chuckled, shaking his head. Regular people were able to sleep for so long. He got four hours, on a really good night. He used to feel it in the dark circles under his eyes, but he’d gotten used to it, after a while. Sleep wasn’t seen as a priority, for him, at this point in his life. There was too much to do, too much to think about. That’s the way it had been, for a while.

Kuroo heard a grunt, and then Yamamoto was walking into the room. “It’s completely normal for me to sleep this late, Tetsurou. We were up late.” He gave Kenma a knowing smile, scratching at his bare stomach. He was only wearing black sweat pants, hanging low on his tan hips. His curly blond mohawk was sticking out on top of his head. Not that Kuroo had any room to talk about bedhead.

Kuroo laughed at Kenma’s expression. “Tora,” he scolded, “you don’t have to tell Kuroo _everything_.” His lips were downturned in a cute pout, thin eyebrows knit.

“Aw, come on, baby,” Yamamoto grinned, kissing the top of Kenma’s head. “Tetsurou and I have been telling each other shit like this for years.”

“I know,” Kenma scowled. “I was _there_.”

Yamamoto clumsily slumped into the chair next to Kenma, smiling at his boyfriend. He turned to Kuroo, a familiar glint in his narrow eyes. “You know the term ‘ride into the sunset,’ right?” he asked the darker haired man.

“I’m familiar with it.”

“Tora, _don’t say it_ —”

Yamamoto’s grin widened. “That’s _exactly_ what Kenma did to me last night.” He winked obnoxiously.

“Tora, if you say any more, I’m never having sex with you again.”

Kuroo chuckled at the way Tora’s eyes widened in fear. The mohawked man turned to his boyfriend, taking one of his smaller hands in two if his own. “Kenma, you wouldn’t.”

Couples were so interesting. The way to people, mutually attracted to each other, acted so shamelessly when they were around another being. The sociology of it all was fascinating. “I wouldn’t push your luck,” Kuroo laughed.

Yamamoto threw an arm around Kenma’s shoulders, earning another small frown. “I truly fear how whipped I am.”

Kuroo’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “Excuse me,” he said, standing up from the table and walking outside, ducking under Kenma’s hung tapestries. He closed the door behind him, fishing his phone out of his pocket and checking the caller ID. It was from Oikawa. “Hello?” he answered.

Oikawa responded with a sigh. “Hey, Tetsu.” Despite the sigh, he sounded as peppy as ever, and maybe a little annoyed. “I tried calling Bokuto first, since I know you’re busy, but I think he’s in one of his moods again. Anyway, I need that stash of money I keep in my kitchen. The one under the counter with the sink. You know the one, right?”

“Sure, I do.” Kuroo leaned against the front door of Kenma and Yamamoto’s apartment, watching a random couple across the street. They really weren’t half as interesting as Kuroo would have liked them to be.

“Sweet, thanks Tetsu. If you could bring it to me, I’d love you forever.”

“Where are you?”

Oikawa gave a breathy laugh. “Oh, yeah. I got arrested.”

#

Kuroo was walking out the front doors with Oikawa, watching the brunet rub at the pink marks around his wrist. He didn’t look unhappy about his experience, which only proved to Kuroo why they got along so well.

“If I find out who took those pictures of me, I really will find them,” Oikawa said, sneering at something in the distance.

“Well, you’ll most likely have Hanamaki and Matsukawa do it for you, but essentially,” Kuroo pointed out. Oikawa liked to get his hands dirty, but he liked other people to do it for him even more, so he had the benefit of watching it all go down.

“I just can’t believe Maki was right. That shitty cop who’s been on my ass lately really wants to watch me burn. I just _know_ he’s going to try to shut me down in every which way.”

Kuroo raised his eyebrows, eyes scanning the brunet. “The same shitty cop you said you wanted to handcuff you again?” Oikawa had gone on and on about how dreamy and gruff this ‘stupid officer Hajime’ was. Kuroo got the idea.

“Yes,” Oikawa pouted.

Kuroo unlocked the doors to his car, holding one open for Oikawa, who slid in. “Just making sure.”

The brunet narrowed his eyes. “I really want to punch his stupid, shitty, beautiful face. He really is too hot to be a cop.”

“So I’ve heard,” Kuroo nodded. “Where to, now?”

“I need to get my car, since I got caught fucking _speeding_. Who does that?” He crossed his arms over his chest, the scowl on his face deepening.

“A high number of people, actually.”

“I wasn’t being literal. Anyway, I’ve already paid a lot of reporters to keep their mouths shut about their precious Oikawa Tooru. I don’t want my job being jeopardized just because I’m inot a few things.” In Kuroo’s opinion, Oikawa _was_ a few things, as opposed to just being into them. Oikawa had a lot of power in the criminal world. “It’s not my fault I like watching people hurt each other.”

Kuroo laughed at his friend. “You’re _more_ than just into it, Oikawa.”

Oikawa held back a smile and opted for an unconvincing frown. “Oh, shut up. I know it turns you on, too.”

Kuroo shrugged. “I love the self-destruction of humanity.”

He did, really. It was as simple as that. Humans were so _interesting_ when they were allowed to let loose and just _go at it_. When given no rules or restrictions, humans weren’t bigger than beating each other to exhaustion, and sometimes death. No matter what type of person someone thought they were, they still jumped at the chance when they were able. And yes, that was exactly what made Kuroo want to go at it, in another sense.

“I just like violence,” Oikawa shuddered. “It turns me on.”

It wasn’t unusual for violence to turn someone on. Kuroo had discovered that early on in his philanthropic career. People liked whatever was deemed as taboo, and that was one of their favourites. Any sort of light pain during sex was good enough for them, and some even favoured when blood was involved. Some people—most people—were too afraid to take it any further than that. But not Oikawa. That’s what made him different. Oikawa wasn’t afraid of getting physically hurt. In fact, he wanted to. Kuroo knew that Oikawa viewed himself as fragile and delicate, but Kuroo knew otherwise. Fragile people generally weren’t able to deal drugs. Delicate people didn’t watch underground ring fights just to get off properly. Those types of people didn’t make as much money as Oikawa did.

“Here we are,” Kuroo said, pulling up next to Oikawa’s car. There were metal locks around each of the back tires, complete with a metal chain connecting the two. “I’m not sure it’ll do you much good, though.” Kuroo pointed at the tires with a finger.

“ _What the fuck_ ,” Oikawa breathed, glaring at the car. “Stupid fucking Iwaizumi Hajime. _Dumb_ fucking law,” he muttered to himself, already scrolling quickly through his phone. “I’ll talk to Tendou. I’m _sure_ he has something for this.”

“You don’t think it’s a bad idea to go against the law more than you already are?” Kuroo asked curiously.

Oikawa smiled. “Why should I?”

Kuroo’s smile towards the brunet quickly transformed into a pleased laugh. Humans could be so genuinely odd, sometimes. “This is exactly why we get along, Oikawa.”

#

“I am going to,” Oikawa knocked a shot back, “drink myself to sleep, tonight.” He knocked back another shot, eyes narrowed in annoyance. He hadn’t made another expression since Kuroo had picked him up, earlier that day.

“You just do what you want, Oikawa.” Kuroo was totally and completely happy watching the effects of stress and annoyance envelop one of his closest friends. Seeing what people did when they were stressed, or at an emotional extreme, helped Kuroo’s understanding of the human race. If Kuroo could see the process of someone getting so emotional that they started drinking, and see how their psychosis changed with the more drinks they had, then maybe he’d be infinitely closer to humanity, as a whole.

“I will,” Oikawa said, hopping onto his toes so he could order another round of drinks from the bartender. They’d been there for a maximum of twenty minutes, and Oikawa had already consumed a round of shots and a glass of wine. He’d told Kuroo that he was convinced that drinking wine didn’t make him prone to alcoholism. Kuroo had simply nodded in agreement.

“Sake,” a familiar voice ordered from behind Kuroo, making Oikawa’s expression turn even meaner than it was before.

Kuroo could feel his brain start working ten times faster than before, even with the buzz of alcohol, gears turning his thoughts at an increasing speed. Kuroo turned around, his eyes shining with giddiness. Sure enough, a tall, curly haired blond sat behind him on a barstool, legs crossed prettily in front of him. He was wearing plain black slacks, and a dark grey button up. His thick-framed glasses sat high on the bridge of his nose, golden eyes glaring at everything they took in. Kuroo was practically buzzing with excitement.

Oikawa sniffed, mouth turning down in a sour expression. It was a habit he usually did when he didn’t like something. “I don’t know who that is, but I know I already don’t like him,” Oikawa’s voice came lilting over to Kuroo. Kuroo flicked his focus over to Oikawa, the smile still wide on his face. “I hope you know how insane you look right now.”

Kuroo’s eyes were as wide as his grin, thoughts and happiness coursing through his body, buzzing with the alcohol. “Oikawa, that’s _him_ ,” he said.

“ _Please_ , he’s not even that good looking,” Oikawa said, with a slight wrinkle of his nose.

Kuroo turned to the blond, trying to control his facial expressions. “Tsukishima?” he asked, voice smooth and cool.

The blond’s eyes slowly looked towards Kuroo, and then rolled away from him, back to the bar. “You again.”

“I never got your first name, you know.”

Tsukishima pushed his black glasses up the bridge of his nose. He had on the same beautiful scowl as he had the last time they met. Kuroo could tell how utterly uninterested he was, and he loved it. “I’m well aware.”

Kuroo’s smile only got wider. “I’m not trying to have sex with you, you know. That’s not what I’m interested in.”

The blond finally turned to face Kuroo, swiveling around on the bar stool. Kuroo’s eyes ate up the way his slacks hugged at his lean thighs, and the way the cuffs of his button up fit perfectly around his slender wrists. “What are you interested in, then?”

“You’re very interesting to me, Tsukishima. I have a particular interest in the way people’s brains work, and yours seems to work quite a bit differently than most people’s.”

There was a condescending smile, paired with the narrowing of pretty gold eyes. “You want to study me?”

Kuroo practically jumped out of his seat. “Precisely!”

Tsukishima shook his head, turning back towards the bar. Kuroo had a feeling that it was going to take a lot of warming up for the blond to do, if he really wanted to get inside of his head. Which he most definitely, absolutely did. “I’d rather not.”

Why wasn’t Kuroo appealing to him? Kuroo was extremely rich, powerful, attractive, and smart. To most people, they would have already been sold on Kuroo in the first thirty seconds of meeting him. He knew that well enough. Was there something Tsukishima valued more than he valued Kuroo’s outstanding qualities? Kuroo was certain there was, and he _needed_ to find out what it was. Tsukishima was disgusted by Kuroo, and all that he was, and Kuroo was enjoying it to the highest extent. He wanted to explore this new variety of human, such as Tsukishima. The lengths he would go to, just to pick apart this blond’s brain… Kuroo had never been so downright interested in someone, or excited to get to know them. He wasn’t familiar with this sensation at all.

“My friend here, Oikawa Tooru—I’m sure you’ve heard of him—”

“Unfortunately.”

Oikawa gasped, a displeased noise following in his throat.

“Well, he’s hosting a fight, here in a few days, and I’d love it if you came to watch it,” Kuroo said, ignoring Oikawa’s grumbles and curses.

Tsukishima blinked down at the counter, tilting his head _just_ in the slightest. “What type of fight?”

“It’s totally illegal. It’s quite literally underground. Why don’t you come and watch people beat the shit out of each other with me, for a few hours?”

“Will anyone be getting injured?” the blond asked, his voice smooth, rolling over Kuroo like the most pleasant ice water he’d ever submerged himself in.

“A few people might even die,” Kuroo said, voice low. He could see in the way that Tsukishima slightly leaned into him, that this was the deal breaker.

“I’ll consider it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment, kudos, question, or anything, telling me how you feel about this update! Thank you so much for reading!


	5. Abracadabra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bokuto desperately wants to understand the deity before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends, I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's fairly short, but I think a lot of development is happening, so I hope that makes up for it!
> 
> Enjoy!

_“Abracadabra: not an Indian word at all, a cabbalistic formula derived from the name of the supreme god of the Basilidan gnostics, containing the number 365, the number of the days of the year, and of the heavens, and of the spirits emanating from the god Abraxas.”_

_— Saleem Sinai_

Bokuto had gone to see Akaashi three more times, since the first.

On the first night, he’d talked to Akaashi Keiji about what exactly Abraxas was.

Akaashi Keiji had narrowed his eyes, but told Bokuto what he’d wanted to hear, anyway. “Abraxas neither a god nor a demon. I transcend your people’s God, and your people’s Devil.”

“But you are a deity,” Bokuto said. His skin was tingling with Abraxas’ power. He knew Akaashi Keiji was a deity because of the way he made Bokuto feel. Because of the beautiful, supernatural glow his pale skin gave off. He knew, because the water was completely still around him, whether there were fish, or bugs, or wind. Everything around Abraxas was still and icy, yet Bokuto felt like he was buzzing, and burning in the darker haired man’s presence.

“In technical terms, yes. May cultures see me as a god, or a demon, or a devil. But I am none of those. If I were categorized by your kind, I’d be a combination of all, and none.” Akaashi Keiji’s dark eyes flickered down to look at Bokuto, studying his form. Bokuto wondered what Abraxas thought of him. Surely, he wasn’t significant. He was just a mortal human, completely enamoured with the presence of this deity.

“Thank you for sharing with me,” Bokuto said, staring up at the man.

“Why did you come back, Bokuto Koutarou? You’re aware I don’t find you worthy.” It wasn’t a question. Abraxas knew that he made it very clear to Bokuto how unworthy of becoming deathless he was.

“I really just wanted to see you again,” the white-haired man admitted. “I guess I had to make sure it wasn’t a dream.” Akaashi Keiji hardly seemed real, even now that Bokuto was standing right in front of him. Real people weren’t this ethereal. Real people _definitely_ didn’t glow in the dark. Akaashi Keiji was hardly real, to Bokuto.

Abraxas narrowed his eyes. “Interesting.”

=

The second time Bokuto visited Abraxas, he allowed himself to sit down on the rock the deity was always found standing on. He had started by telling Akaashi Keiji about the research he had done on Abraxas. The other man hadn’t shown any interest, but he hadn’t stopped Bokuto when he’d cautiously lowered himself onto the rock. He’d given him a quick glance with those deep, dark eyes, and then looked back to whatever he was always looking at. The rock was cold, and damp, but he was slowly getting closer to the deity, and that was all that mattered to him, at the time. His feet were resting in the still water, having left his shoes in the boat.

“Do you ever move?” Bokuto asked, nervously tugging on the neckline of his thermal shirt. He’d learned very quickly to dress in more layers than he thought was necessary. It was already cold at night in Tokyo, but out in the middle of nowhere, where there was a lake and no source of light other than the moon and the deity standing next to him, it was freezing. The icy aura Abraxas gave off didn’t make anything any warmer, either.

Akaashi Keiji’s eyes, looked down at Bokuto, the most beautiful shade of blue-green. His eyes were impossibly dark and glassy, reflecting the light of the moon, looking as endless and terrifying as the lake did. His eyes were framed perfectly with curling black eyelashes, on top of the lashline, and on the bottom one. His brow bone appeared to be lit up by the moonlight, pale skin nearly reflecting the source of light. His skin didn’t look like a regular human’s skin, to Bokuto. It wasn’t flesh coloured, at least in this lighting. His skin looked the same colour as the surface of the moon—a beautiful, pale silver, that glowed just as much. Bokuto’s lungs were seizing up inside of his body every time he looked at Akaashi, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be used to it.

“Why are you back?” Akaashi Keiji said, completely ignoring Bokuto’s question. Maybe this was what Kuroo meant when he said he was intrigued by people who didn’t want him. Bokuto had never understood it before, he just figured it was part of Kuroo’s whole sociology obsession. But there was something undoubtedly intriguing about Abraxas, and it had to do with a lot more than him being a beautiful deity. The intrigue was only fueled by how little he knew about him. Because Abraxas didn’t talk a lot, especially not about himself, Bokuto wanted him to talk _more_. He wanted to hear everything the deity had to say, and then some. He was sure he could listen for days on end, without getting bored. For fuck’s sake, he could just _look_ at Akaashi Keiji for days on end, without getting bored. He was _incredible_.

“I told you, I like seeing you.” The buzz Akaashi Keiji gave him under his skin was starting to become less unsettling, and more pleasant. As was the way Akaashi talked down to him, and the cool, clipped tone of his voice when he spoke to Bokuto. He liked the straightness of Akaashi’s nose, and the dip of his cupid’s bow. He liked how none of his fair skin had so much as a single blemish on it. Not a pore, or a freckle, or a scar. On anyone else, it would have made him look like a mannequin, and uncomfortably unnatural. But on Abraxas, it only made his moonlit skin glow more.

“Why?” Akaashi Keiji asked.

Bokuto blinked, taken aback by the question. It was the first time Akaashi had actually taken any interest in anything Bokuto had to say. “Um,” Bokuto thought. “You’re very beautiful. I mean,” he took a deep breath. Talking to Abraxas was a lot harder than he’d needed it to be. “You’re interesting to me.” The deity looked down at Bokuto, narrowed his eyes, and looked back of into the distance. “I haven’t met someone like you before, you know.”

“I’m aware of this,” Akaashi said. “I don’t believe that warrants you coming back to see me.”

“Well,” Bokuto chuckled. “I just can’t help myself, at this point.”

=

The third time Bokuto visited Akaashi Keiji, he wasn’t on the rock. He was in the middle of the lake. His bare torso was the only thing visible to Bokuto, the smooth, pale skin enveloped by the dark, smooth water. Bokuto nearly mistook him for the reflection of the moon, on the water. That’s how beautiful and unreal Abraxas.

Bokuto hopped out of his boat, right into the water. He would have thought that constantly going waist deep in cold, dark water, especially when he was wearing jeans, would have bothered him, but when he was around Akaashi Keiji, he couldn’t care less about how the water felt. Jeans were always a pain to take off, afterwards, but in the moment, it was all worth it. To him, Akaashi Keiji made every experience he was having, completely worth every second.

“You’re not usually out here,” Bokuto pointed out, pulling himself through the water, closer to the deity. The closer he got to Akaashi, the colder the water got. He felt like he was being frozen in place, but he didn’t mind. The rush of blood under his skin was hot enough to keep his mind off of it.

“This is only the fourth time you’ve ever seen me,” Abraxas pointed out. He didn’t turn to look at Bokuto, just kept his gaze on the dark water in front of him. Bokuto could see the shadow of his sharp, angular jawline, under the moonlight. The shadows of his facial structure were making him appear more gaunt and mythical than usual. His eyelashes cast long shadows over the curves of his cheeks.

Bokuto laughed nervously. “I know. But this is the first time I’ve seen you down here.”

Akaashi looked at Bokuto for what felt like hours, and then looked away, back into the water. “I still don’t understand why you keep coming back.” Even when he moved his arms to feel the water, the water didn’t move around him. It stayed exactly where it was before. It looked more like he was moving through ice, or gelatin, than water.

Bokuto shrugged, inching closer to the deity. “Still making sure you’re real.”

Akaashi Keiji tilted his head, and looked at Bokuto. His eyes narrowed at the white-haired man’s face, angled eyebrows raising. “Are you not convinced yet?” His lips were full, and pale, and formed every word perfectly, with confidence in what he was saying. Every vowel and consonant was enunciated perfectly, cutting into Bokuto’s skin. It felt like the darker haired man was bleeding him dry. And Bokuto? He was still trying to convince himself that he didn’t like it as much as he felt like he did.

Bokuto shook his head, giving a small smile. “Not yet. It’s not like I’ve met a lot of deities, before you.”

Akaashi didn’t answer. He was focused on something on the water. His fingers were skimming the surface of it, leaving less that indents, or ripples. The water stayed as still as it always was, around him. The water around Bokuto was sloshing and rippling, of course, but as soon as it got within two feet of Abraxas, it stilled completely.

“Uh,” Bokuto said, inching closer to the deity. “This is going to sound weird.” Akaashi Keiji’s eyes found Bokuto again, narrowing at his words. “But, uh. Can I touch you?” If the water between he and Akaashi met, what would happen? Would there be a finer line of moving water and still water? Or would Akaashi Keiji’s presence overtake Bokuto’s, and the water around Bokuto would still as well? If Akaashi’s touch was as powerful as his presence was, Bokuto could easily be killed by it. In the end, it was, without a doubt, worth it.

Abraxas tilted his head to the side, eyes piercing into Bokuto and silently tearing him apart. “Why?”

Bokuto felt like he couldn’t breathe. Abraxas tended to have that effect on him. “I’m just curious. Please?” He could feel his wide his eyes were, and he was sure he looked crazy, to the other man. He doubted Akaashi Keiji really cared how he looked, at the moment.

Akaashi sighed. If Bokuto hadn’t known better it would have looked like Akaashi Keiji gave a small roll of his eyes. That was too human for someone like him to do. “If you must.”

Bokuto swam closer, watching the dark water. He wouldn’t have been able to see, if it hadn’t been for the light from the moon, and the glow radiating off of Abraxas’ skin. He stopped right in front of the other man, and nearly started crying again. He was closer to Abraxas than he ever had been. If the closeness was supposed to make Akaashi Keiji less beautiful and terrifyingly perfect, it certainly didn’t. It just gave Bokuto a chance to see every pore that didn’t exist, and the thickness and length of each individual eyelash.

Bokuto looked down at the water, and sure enough, it had frozen around him as well. He understood why. He felt like he couldn’t move even an inch in Abraxas’ presence. His joints and bones and skin were all frozen because of Akaashi Keiji. The blood rushing through his veins was as hot and fast as ever, fueling ever heartbeat he could feel pounding in his ribs. It felt like a layer of ice was coating his skin, freezing him in place. Only, he wasn’t really frozen.

Bokuto lifted his hand slowly, trying to ignore how quickly his heart was beating in his chest. His heart felt like it was trying to bet it’s way out of his body, and he didn’t really blame it. He tried to focus on breathing, because he was fairly certain he’d been holding his breath the whole time. Akaashi was looking at him with an indifferent expression, dark blue-green eyes boring into Bokuto’s brain. It felt like he was pulling apart each and every one of the white-haired man’s thoughts, and tossing them to the side.

His fingertips touched the cold, smooth skin of Akaashi’s cheek. That was when Bokuto actually did start crying again. He couldn’t help it. Hot tears were spilling out of his eyes and running down his cheeks, the trails of liquid cooling quickly in the night. Abraxas’ cheek felt like cool marble, flawless and perfectly sculpted. He didn’t feel like a living organism at all, and Bokuto could have kept touching him forever. He slid his fingertips down, over the sharp cheekbones, almost all the way down to his jawline. The other man’s expression didn’t change.

As soon as the other man started talking, Bokuto snapped his hand away from Akaashi Keiji, letting in freeze in the water. “Are you aware you’re crying this time?” he asked, gaze as icy and perfect as his skin was.

Bokuto cleared his throat, trying to wipe the tears off of his face with the sleeve of his coat. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s not something I can control.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment, kudos, qurstion, or anything telling me how you feel about this update!
> 
> Thank you so much!


	6. Supreme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa loves nothing more than doing and getting what he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with more! I'm sorry this took so long to post, but this chapter is fairly exciting, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

_It is said the name [Abraxas] originated as a replacement for the unmentionable name of the Supreme Being._

_-Simon Magnus_

 

Oikawa was a firm believer that you should be able to do whatever the fuck you want to do, and not let anything or anyone stand in your way.

In this case, Oikawa was absolutely _not_ going to let Officer Iwaizumi Hajime stand in his way of watching two people knock each other’s fucking lights out. That was what he wanted to do. He wouldn’t let the law stand in his way. It hadn’t before, so why should that change?

Oikawa was a fan of watching people get hurt. It _really_ got his blood moving. He liked to see humans act like animals, and let that carnal desire for blood possess them. He was basically stripping people down to their most basic primal instincts, just long enough for them to beat the fuck out of someone.

What he certainly was _not_ a fan of, was listening to Kuroo talk about some shitty, ill-mannered blond, and how excited he was for this blond to come to _Oikawa’s_ fight, to make eyes at _Oikawa’s_ best friend. Well, Kuroo hadn’t said that last part. Tsukishima wasn’t even here, yet. But Oikawa was sure that Kuroo would find some way to lure him into making eyes at him, like he always did. Kuroo had a way with people, and he most definitely wasn’t afraid to use that for his own gain.

The first round of fights was almost finished, Oikawa sitting in a tall chair in the center of the audience, Kuroo right next to him, albeit in a less extravagant seat. There was a cleared area in the middle of the room, where people were supposed to fight. The audience was completely in the round, surrounding all sides of the stage, for the most interesting, and best view. The ceiling was low, and it was dusty as hell in here, but it sure was a good fucking time.

_All_ Kuroo had talked about, so far, was Tsukishima, and it was driving Oikawa fucking insane. Kuroo was practically buzzing with energy. He hardly ever got like this, and Oikawa was glad he found something to be excited about, but at the same time, he didn’t give a _fuck_. He was happy for his best friend, in terms of newfound fascination, but he was less happy about the fact that some bitch of a blond was the one to make him like this.

He just didn’t get the appeal.

The larger of Oikawa’s two fighters pulled the other head between his meaty hands, and drove his head forward, headbutting him, square in the forehead. The smaller man, covered in blood and sweat, stumbled backwards a few steps, before crashing down to the ground, completely knocked cold.

The brunet grinned happily and applauded with the rest of the audience as Hanamaki held the victor’s hand in the air, as if this was some professional wrestling match. Matsukawa was dragging the loser’s body out of the stage area, leaving him behind that section of the audience. Both Hanamaki and Matsukawa were wearing ridiculous, red and yellow striped aprons over their clothing. It was just like them to make something like this into a circus.

Oikawa lowered himself out of his chair, stretching his arms up. This was where everyone took a short intermission, in order to prepare for the next round of fights. This was where Oikawa walked around and spoke to the audience, to make sure they were all satisfied customers. He usually had the same set of customers every time, but meeting new people who were interested in his services was very important to him, and an impeccable marketing strategy.

“Good evening, Terushima,” Oikawa smiled, eyes looking down at the man sitting.

Terushima was one of his most loyal customers, and often helped Oikawa out with smuggling, whenever he needed it. Terushima had a neat undercut, the shaved part dark, the longer hair on the top of his head a dirty blonde. He was always smirking, slanted eyes narrowed in a way that made it look like he was mentally undressing everything he laid eyes on.

The man looked up to Oikawa with that smirk, eyes locking onto the brunet’s face. “Hey, Oikawa.”

Oikawa gave him his most charming smile, showing his teeth. “How are you enjoying yourself?” As a person, Oikawa didn’t really mind Terushima. He could be a bit much, at times, but he was always willing to help Oikawa out, and that counted for a lot, in Oikawa’s book.

Terushima thought about this, eyes shifting towards the ceiling, his tongue piercing coming out to rest between his teeth. A slow smile stretched over his face, his tongue piercing going back into his mouth. “Very interesting show today. It’s good.”

The brunet put his hand on Terushima’s shoulder, smiling. “That’s great to hear. Let me know if you need anything.” He winked over his shoulder, more for Terushima’s benefit than anything, and walked off to talk to the owners of their venue.

Right before he was able to meet with Hanamaki and Matsukawa, Kuroo briskly walked towards him, back straight, and eyes wide with a terrifying display of excitement. “ _Oikawa_ ,” he hissed, a hand shooting up to wrap around his bicep.

Oikawa was already frowning. “ _What_?” he hissed back.

The look in Kuroo’s eyes was far crazier than usual. It was the same look Oikawa got whenever he was watching a fight, or talking about violence. His eyes were wide and hungry, not unlike his grin. Paired with his incurable bedhead, Kuroo was really looking like a madman. “He came,” the darker haired man smiled, eyes locked onto something, the same way a predator’s eyes locked onto their next meal, right before they pounced. The dark tawny hue was glimmering with a lighter gold, like lighting, and it practically screamed animalism.

Oikawa looked to where Kuroo’s eyes were locked, easily finding a tall blond making his way through the seats. He looked just as bitchy as he had the first time Oikawa had seen him. Black jeans, a grey shirt. Questionable fashion choices, in Oikawa’s opinion. He wasn’t really sure how someone could wear such boring clothes, without a coordinated pop of maroon, or a chic, black, wool coat, or silver shoes, or anything to make his appearance in the least but interesting. He really didn’t get what Kuroo saw in him. Even if his brain was especially interesting, that didn’t make up for his shit attitude and dull appearance. He wasn’t even that good looking.

“Well, good for you,” Oikawa sighed, biting back a sneer.

He saw the blond sit on the opposite side of the audience, thankfully far away from Oikawa, and in turn, saw a flash in Kuroo’s eyes, as he went to go talk to him. He wasn’t smiling like a psychopath anymore, but he certainly didn’t look any less ecstatic.

Oikawa took this chance to go talk to more of his customers, throwing charms in every which direction. It was a different type of charm than the one he had to use when he was modeling, or talking to the press, or even shooting a movie. That was a very light, shallow sort of charm. It was all about fluttering eyelashes, and blindingly white smiles, and the right type of friendly glances towards cameras. The type of charm he used underground was like the bite of a snake. It was the cold feeling of venom spreading through your veins, coagulating everything in it’s path. The feeling of a black widow’s venom paralyzing you, slowly stopping the movement in your limbs. He charmed these customers, sure, but in the way the heart raced, seconds before pain pierced the flesh. He charmed them, in a threatening sort of way. These people still loved hi, though. In a way, it was _why_ they loved him.

“Maki, Matsu,” Oikawa smiled, putting a hand on both of their shoulders. “Thank you, as always, for hosting this again. You know I really appreciate it.”

Hanamaki nodded. “Well, sweetheart, thanks for paying us for it.” He gave a tight-lipped smile, his narrow eyes looking as mischievous as always.

Matsukawa snorted. “Sweetheart.”

Oikawa raised his eyebrows at the pet name. “Either way,” he said, “you know I love these fights, so thank you.”

“No problem,” Hanamaki shrugged. “We enjoy them, too.”

“Have you heard from that cop since you got arrested?” Matsukawa asked, raising a thick eyebrow.

Oikawa cleared his throat. “Fortunately, no. He probably only pays attention to the people who are speeding.” He frowned, recalling his first experience with officer Hajime. “I really would like to kill him, though.”

“Hey,” Hanamaki shrugged. “Just give us the word.”

Oikawa gave a breathy laugh. “Thanks, guys.” He sent them a disbelieving smile, shaking his head amusedly.

He glanced up the where Kuroo’s blond was sitting, now being pestered by the darker haired man. Kuroo was sitting sideways in the seat next to him, leaning in close. The blond had his arms crossed over his chest, but Oikawa could see that he was responding.

A red-haired man was counting the number of people sitting down, eyes wide, fingers bandaged.

“Hey, Tendou, thanks again for your help with my car,” Oikawa said, watching the other man.

“Not a problem,” Tendou said, finger moving over the crowd as he continued to count.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa struck a gong, signaling for everyone to get back into their seats. People scrambled to sit down, an excited buzz filling the air. Oikawa went back to his tall chair, smiling at everyone he saw. The two next fighters, Mad Dog, and a new fighter named Yaku, stood in the circle, popping their joints and stretching their muscles. Mad Dog, a brute of a man named Kyoutani Kentarou, was a regular fighter for Oikawa. There were many times he’d won, and very few times he’d lost. He was short, but incredibly muscular, and mean as all hell. Oikawa hadn’t met a whole lot of people more aggressive than Kyoutani. Every time he won, Oikawa would meet with him to give him his prize money, but he always refused. He said that his real prize was the joy of beating the shit out of someone. He was a real fucked up dude, and wasn’t fond of Oikawa, but the brunet didn’t mind him. He certainly made for an entertaining show.

The new fighter, Yaku, had never fought for Oikawa before, but he looked rather small to be trying to take Kyoutani down. Oikawa had called Kyoutani short, but Yaku was a least five inches shorter, and didn’t have the added advantage of muscles. He was fairly thin, actually. It looked to Oikawa like Mad Dog would be able to snap his arms in half without even breaking a sweat. Who knew, though? Oikawa liked to be surprised.

 

Hanamaki stood in between the two fighters, facing the side of the crowd opposite of Oikawa. “Are we all ready to see this?” he shouted, earning a loud response from the audience. “Here, we have our many-time champion, Mad Dog!” The audience cheered and applauded excitedly. “And for the first time ever, Yaku!” The audience responded, a few people looking skeptical of the person about to go against their favourite fighter. Yaku looked extraordinarily calm and confident. Hanamaki bowed, then pat both of the fighters on the back. “Let’s get started.”

He ran out of the fighting ring as the audience applauded, back to where Matsukawa was holding the gong. When the audience calmed down a bit, he looked to the fighters, and struck the gong, beginning the first round of Mad Dog and Yaku’s fight.

Kyoutani, of course, was the first one to step forward, swinging his fist towards Yaku’s face. The smaller man took one slight step backwards, easily ducking out of Kyoutani’s aim. The audience went silent with anticipation. Oikawa could feel himself beginning to smile, the edges of his mouth curled up in excitement.

The larger man looked confused, stepping forward to swing another punch. Just as easily, Yaku dodged this hit as well, back bending, eyes following Kyoutani’s balled fist as it swung over his body. Dodging these hits looked as easily as breathing, for Yaku. He didn’t look like he was putting any effort into his movements. Kyoutani, on the other hand, looked _furious_. He wasn’t used to people being able to dodge him. He was fast as fuck, especially for someone of his size, and his muscles gave him an unbelievable amount of power.

He kept stepping forward, swinging fast, albeit messy punches, aiming for any part of Yaku that was closest to him. Yaku was as lithe as a cat, slinking out of the way, ducking into a squat when Kyoutani got too close. Yaku looked just as calm as he had when they’d begun, a neutral expression on his face, thin limbs rolling out of the way of Mad Dog.

Yaku stood, looking straight at Kyoutani, practically taunting Kyoutani into the next hit. The larger man leapt forward, his fist coming down at Yaku, aiming right for his face, driving down at an increasing speed. It looked like Yaku was done for. When Kyoutani’s fist was less than half a foot away from Yaku, the smaller man brought his arm up in one, smooth motion, hand catching Kyoutani’s fist. The momentum slid him backwards a foot, but he looked completely unalarmed. He pulled Kyoutani forward by that same arm, the larger man’s stomach coming down right onto the knee Yaku had raised. Oikawa hadn’t even realized that Yaku had raised his knee, until it was making contact with Kyoutani. He doubted the larger man had realized, either.

Kyoutani stumbled back, anger contorting his facial features. Before anyone even realized what was happening, Yaku was launching himself off of one leg, spinning through the air, the heel of his foot colliding with Kyoutani’s jaw, knocking him down to the cement ground.

The audience cheered louder than ever, some of them standing as they applauded. Oikawa couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled up from his throat. He could feel his blood rushing through his veins, his skin tingling with excitement. His eyes were wide, and he was smiling, and he was sure he looked even crazier than Kuroo had, before.

Mad Dog stood up, wiping blood from his lips, glaring hatred at Yaku. He lunged forward, fist ready to hit _something_. Yaku bent down sideways, not only dodging Kyoutani’s hit, but throwing his leg upwards, his foot making contact with the center of the larger man’s chest, pushing him back. The fact that someone as small and thin as Yaku could push a brick wall like Kyoutani backwards, really said something about his abilities. Oikawa had a feeling that he was looking at a new favourite of a lot of his clients.

Before Kyoutani could retaliate, or even consider doing so, Yaku was _jumping_ towards him, springing off of his leg, spinning to kick him in the face, with the foot opposite of the one he’d used last time. Kyoutani was thrown to the ground again, landing on his hands, saliva and blood dripping onto the concrete.

While the audience absolutely lost their minds, Oikawa laughed gleefully. There was a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see Kuroo looking down at him, a slight frown on his face. “What?” Oikawa said, the smile remaining on his face.

“Kenma texted me and said this place is in trouble,” Kuroo said, showing the phone screen to the brunet. “He said we should shut this thing down, before something bad happens.”

Oikawa narrowed his eyes, wrinkling his nose. “I thought you didn’t believe in that shit, Kuroo.”

Kuroo shook his head. “I don’t, really. Even so, Kenma has a knack for being right about these things.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Kuroo, but I’m sure we’ll be fine. Can I get back to my fight now?”

The darker haired man sighed. “Do what you want, Oikawa. I think Tsukishima and I are going to head out, anyway. Call me if you need anything.” He was studying Oikawa’s face, probably picking apart the brunet’s brain, like he always was.

“Thank you,” Oikawa said, turning back to the fighting ring.

Kyoutani was on the ground again, a bruise blooming on the right side of his face, a cut right over his browbone. Blood was slowly trickling downwards, creeping towards his eyelid. He stood again, swinging a fist at the smaller man. Yaku bent backwards, practically bending in half, fingertips barely touching the cement, before he was popping up to catch another one of Mad Dog’s hits in his slender hand.

Kyoutani was relentless, coming forward with the other hand, the muscles in his arms rippling visibly. Yaku ducked into a squat, lowering himself to the ground. His leg came out to swing from behind Mad Dog, tripping him. Kyoutani didn’t fall this time, but stumbled backwards, wiping the sweat and blood from his browbone, before it could reach his eye. Sweat was covering his skin, shining in the fluorescent lights, dripping down his temples, and bruised jaw. Crimson streaked the sides of his mouth, colouring his lips a bright hue.

Yaku was just about to spring into another kick, when he stopped abruptly, looking towards the ceiling. Kyoutani moved forward, taking this chance to swing again. Yaku blocked it with an arm, eyes not moving away from the ceiling.

“Wait,” Yaku said, stopping the larger man and silencing the audience. “Do you hear that?” His eyes scanned the ceiling.

Oikawa frowned. And then he heard it. The wail of police sirens was close. Far closer than they would have been, had they just been driving on the road next to Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s house.

For a moment, no one moved, just listening to the sound Yaku had identified. Then, people were running in every which direction, pushing past each other to get to the door Hanamaki and Matsukawa had so thoughtfully installed in their tunnel.

“Fuck,” Oikawa spat. He couldn’t believe Kuroo had been right. Couldn’t believe Kenma, Kuroo’s fucking witch friend, had been right. What the fuck had he done in a past life to deserve all of this?

There was a loud cracking noise, and police officers were filtering into the tunnel, right before Oikawa’s eyes. One of the officers didn’t waste any time getting to Oikawa, handcuffs already in his hands. Oikawa laughed when he saw who it was.

“Oh, Iwaizumi Hajime. You just couldn’t keep away, could you?” he smiled, turning around to let him handcuff him.

One of the cuffs clicked around his wrist, tightening. “I told you, Oikawa, I’ll just keep finding you.”

As the other handcuff tightened around his wrist, Oikawa bend down, pushing his ass against Iwaizumi’s pelvis, just to piss him off. “And how persistent you are,” he cooed.

Oikawa could swear he heard a smile in the officer’s voice. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law. You have the right to have a lawyer present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you if you so desire.” He pulled Oikawa into a standing position, shoving him towards the door. He gave a low chuckle. “Oikawa, you’re a sick bastard.”

Oikawa laughed, turning his head to look at the darker haired man. “I know.”

#

Oikawa was back in the chair in the interrogation room, just as Iwaizumi Hajime had said he would be. He was crossing his arms over his chest, one leg crossed over the other. He was glaring at officer Hajime.

The officer sat in front of Oikawa, dropping papers onto the table. “Well, it looks like your friends, Hanamaki Takahiro, and Matsukawa Issei, got away.”

Oikawa raised his eyebrows. “Of course they did.” Despite how quirky the two of them were, they were some of the most capable and intelligent underground criminals Oikawa had ever worked with. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were never even on the police department’s radar.

“Do you know where they are now?” Iwaizumi asked, eyes watching Oikawa’s every move.

The brunet shrugged. “No clue. We’re strictly business partners.”

Iwaizumi raised his eyebrows. “What else do they do, besides let people kill each other under their house?” He was crossing his arms over his chest, the fabric of his uniform just _barely_ containing his biceps. Oikawa could see the strained fabric around the buttons, pulling tight over his pectoral muscles. It was far more distracting than Oikawa would have liked to admit.

Oikawa winked at the darker haired man. “That isn’t my secret to tell,” he whispered.

Iwaizumi frowned. “It is, actually. You’re responsible for everything that has to do with everything that’s happened under their roof during a fight.”

Oikawa leaned forward, resting a cheek on his hand. “Are you really bored of me this easily, Iwa-chan?” he pouted, loving the way the other man frowned at the nickname. “Come on, pay some attention to _me_.”

“Why do you host these fights, anyway? Is it about the money?” the officer asked.

Oikawa laughed. “The money, seriously?” He shook his head. “I’m not lacking money, by any means. I just had a movie released, remember? If anything, I have more money than ever.”

“Then what is it?”

The brunet narrowed his eyes at Iwaizumi, the edges of his lips curling up in a smile. “Are you trying to pick apart my brain right now, officer?”

Iwaizumi’s tongue came out to wet his lips, Oikawa’s eyes following the movement. Iwaizumi’s tongue was a pretty pink colour, like his lips. It looked nice against the tan of his skin. “I’m interrogating you, Oikawa. It’s my job.”

Oikawa fluttered his eyelashes at the darker haired man. “If you really want to know, I hold the fights because I _like_ them.” He wasn’t sure he could explain to Iwaizumi the _way_ he liked them, or even how much he did, but it was a safe answer to say that he did, in fact, like them.

“You like them?” Iwaizumi asked, narrowing his dark olive green eyes. His eyelashes were thick, the same black as his hair. “Why is that?”

Oikawa rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, please. Don’t you people watch wrestling, and whatnot? It’s good entertainment.”

Iwaizumi was tapping his foot against the tiles, taking a moment to look at Oikawa. “I don’t believe you.”

The brunet laughed loudly. This cop really was something. If he suspected the real reason Oikawa liked these fights, then he had more reason to be put off by him than he was showing. If he wanted to pick apart Oikawa’s brain, in a similar way that Kuroo did, Oikawa was sure that this officer was going to think he was some sort of freak by the end of this.

“Really,” Oikawa said, lowering his voice and leaning forward. He’d never seen this shitty cop’s face so close before. He was still annoyingly handsome. “I like it. I like watching.”

Iwaizumi leaned away from Oikawa, the closer he got. “You’re sick.” He shook his head.

“So you’ve said. Aren’t you, too?”

Iwaizumi scowled. “Excuse me?”

“Aren’t you a sick bastard, too? I mean, you took way more joy out of arresting me, than any regular person would have. How’s that for interrogation?”

Iwaizumi stood up. “I’m going to put your ass in jail one day, and you’re going to stay there, for a very long time.”

Oikawa widened his eyes mockingly. “It’s cute that you think that. You’re adorable, Iwa-chan.”

“I don’t think I will. I’m certain of it. One day, we’re going to catch you in the act, and it’s going to be far worse than today, or any other day. I’m just going to keep coming after you, no matter where you are, or what you’re doing, and you’ll be guilty every time. Do you really think you’re so capable, you can escape law enforcement?” Iwaizumi stood, crossing his arms.

The door to the interrogation room was opened by a tall, familiar man. This man had neatly parted brown hair, and a stern look on his face. “Your bail is here, sir,” he said, deep voice rumbling low in his chest.

Oikawa’s lips parted in surprise, eyes widening. “It’s you,” he said, looking between that man and Iwaizumi Hajime. “Ushijima Wakatoshi, you’re the fucking spy!”

“That information is classified,” Iwaizumi insisted.

“Oh, bullshit,” Oikawa said, wrinkling his nose. _Now_ he was pissed off. Ushijima had only come to a few of Oikawa’s fights, and Oikawa had _always_ been nice to him. Goes to show what being nice does for you, right? “I know it was you. Oh, Iwa-chan, you’ve done it this time.” He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. He turned to Ushijima. “First off, fuck you. Second, Iwaizumi, I’ll be seeing you soon, I’m sure.”

Iwaizumi’s scowl deepened. “You’ll be back.”

Oikawa stepped forward, looking right into the darker haired man’s eyes, moving until their toes were touching. He heard Ushijima rustling behind him, probably arming himself incase Oikawa decided to lose it. Oikawa shifted, until he and Iwaizumi’s faces were a few inches apart. “I look forward to it, _officer_ ,” he bit. Then, he gave the officer a quick peck to the lips, walking out of the room without so much as another glance in their direction. He was in for one _hell_ of a ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, please leave a kudos, comment, question, etc, telling me how you feel about this crazy chapter!
> 
> Thank you all so much!

**Author's Note:**

> That was mostly a set up for what's to come. Get ready for the next chapter: Bokuto-Blameless.
> 
> Please feel free to leave a comment, kudos, or question, I'd really appreciate it.
> 
> Thank you!


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